The East Nashville Apocalypse
A few weeks from now, Vanessa and I will return to the west coast, nearly one year on from our first tour in that region. To me at least, it’s strange to think that we have lived in the United States for a whole year, mostly because much of it still seems so new and intensely foreign to me. I’m still highly enamoured of the new accents - the elastic drawl of my Georgia raised friends and the valley girl bounce of (some) folks from California; I frequently encounter words and phrases in my vocabulary that are incongruent with the American way of speaking (“chuck us that pen”, “it’s on the bench/counter”, “I’m gonna go for a pee/go pee”; I’m still grossly unaware of bulk of American stores, restaurants and foods that are such a way of life here in the states (I so often hear ‘Oh my God you’ve never been to a …. ?!?!?!?’); And I’m still blown away by just how fucking big everything is (the 20 screen cinema I went to last night and the ‘medium’ soft drink my friend Heather ordered).
This will also be my 2nd summer here. It’s now spring, and the temperature is a modest 82°F/28°C, but soon, it will be so goddamn hot that even in the night time it’s so swampy and humid it feels as if you could reach out and cup water from the sweltery air.
I really love how leafy and overgrown it’s getting - sometimes on my morning runs, through the undulating side streets of Inglewood, East Nashville, on the cracked roadsides and around the quaint wood and brick bungalows, I imagine what the city would look like if it was overtaken by plant life and swathed in waves of thick green foliage. I see it as a forgotten city, lost like a button somewhere in the middle of Tennessee’s sprawling hills. I like to think of myself and my roommates (and perhaps Vanessa) as the only inhabitants in this overgrown city, the air so thick and leafy green that every sound is choked and final. I imagine roaming the dusty linoleum hallways of the huge supermarkets and malls, inventing games and exploding curdled cartons of cream against the walls. Perhaps I should ease up on the zombie movies.
This morning instead of running, I rode my bike to and around the greenway near to my house. Riding home and coming up to the crest of the little hills around Riverside Village, I half expect to see the ocean laid out in front of me as I come over the top. I’m surprised how much I miss living near the beach, for growing up as a skier, I always fancied myself more of a mountain person that a coastal one. I suppose when you have neither, and when it’s so damn hot, the desire to swim is a natural inclination. Well, soon to California - where much swimming shall be had by all.
Cy and Rachel Baiman, somewhere in California
Photo by Mick Leonardi